


Wedding Night

by RoryDysfunction



Series: Let Your Freak Flag Fly - Dys' Exo Adventures [4]
Category: exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Chubby Reader, Exophilia, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff, Orcs, Reader-Insert, Size Difference, Smut, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26109907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoryDysfunction/pseuds/RoryDysfunction
Summary: You and your big orc husband enjoy your wedding night.
Relationships: Human/Orc
Series: Let Your Freak Flag Fly - Dys' Exo Adventures [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817878
Comments: 1
Kudos: 117





	Wedding Night

**Author's Note:**

> Requested on my tumblr.

It had finally happened. You had gotten married. You had dreamed of this moment for a long time, since you were a little girl. It excited you, the prospect of being married, despite your family’s hesitation with your decision on a groom. Your mother had been understanding, but your father had his reservations about your choice of partner. But he was your father. He wouldn’t approve of anyone who wanted to date you, let alone marry you. But you didn’t care. You loved your big orc...husband. You could call him husband now. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder as he carried you into your hotel room. It had been a gift from your parents for the night before you would leave for your honeymoon. Tulgan had to duck slightly to make it in the door. You weren’t kidding when you called him big. You were small for a human, but you barely cleared his elbow when standing next to him. 

You didn’t care. You loved every inch of him. 

He sets you on the bed gingerly, ever the gentle giant. You look up at him in all his glory. He had stripped out of the tuxedo jacked during the reception and was currently laying on the luggage that had been delivered to the hotel early. The fitted shirt hugged his muscles just the right way, the starched white contrasting with the evergreen tone of his skin. He wore his hair braided back, a tradition that spanned centuries. You can’t help but ogle as he kneels down, fitted pants stretched across thick, strong thighs. You’d be out of your dress in a second if you caught a glimpse of his ass. 

You bite your lip as he grips your ankle, hand firm as it carefully massages the tires muscles. Your heels weren’t tall, but they certainly had done a number on your feet between the ceremony and the reception. 

He carefully removes them, setting them on the floor. Your skirts were bunched up slightly, tulle and lace partially blocking your view of him. A light moan leaves your lips as his hands slide upward, working their way to your knees. 

“Feel good?” 

You bite your lip, nodding. 

“You looked like an angel, walking down the aisle.” He parts your knees to settle himself amongst the tulle of your skirt. “I couldn’t stop thinking how lucky I am to have you.” 

You smile, tears threatening to fall from the emotional night you’d had. “Oh Tulgan, you big softie.” He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. You reach a hand up, tracing a tusk with your finger. “I’m certainly the lucky one.” 

He smiles, eyes scrunching in the adorable way as his arms reach over your dress to wrap around your middle. He presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in. “I think we can call it even and say we’re both lucky.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, sitting up slightly. “Now, I’m sure you’d like to get out of this dress.” 

You nod, groaning slightly. “I was ready four hours ago.” 

You let out a squeak as he picks you up, hands on your waist. He sets you down, back facing him. Dulled claws work at the ties and zippers keeping the dress on. You start to feel slightly nervous again, your brain’s reaction every time something like this happened.

Four years and you still can’t quite shake the self-consciousness around him. You weren’t exactly a supermodel. You were...soft. Tulgan said he preferred you that way, wanting something to hold on to at night. He had spent hours reassuring you of his love for your body just the way it was. 

You had met plenty of orc women in your time around Tulgan, and none of them were exactly supermodels. You try to remember that as his hands release the last zipper and it drops to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Tulgan’s hands are warm as they smooth along the skin of your waist, the broad expanse of his body pressing against yours. You can feel every hard muscle against your back, plus something else pressing into the dip of your lower back. 

“Happy to see me?” You ask, fingers splaying out on his smooth shirt. 

He chuckles, the sound almost morphing into a low growl. “Always.” 

Tulgan’s warm breath fans through your hair, still in its updo. You wanted to take it out, but at the same time you knew you weren’t exactly going anywhere. Dulled claws trace along the skin of your stomach, tickling you enough to cause goosebumps to form. You let yourself go, letting your body lean back against the orc behind you. He’s warm, warmer than a human, and it’s comforting to you. You loved his warmth, even in the heat of summer. It was like a comforting blanket, reminding you of his presence. He had sworn to protect you in his vows, and he meant it. 

You turn in his arms, hands smoothing over the broad expanse of his chest. It swells slightly in pride as your fingers begin to work on his shirt buttons. His hands are at your back, claws scratching your skin as he undoes your bra, yanking it down your arms and tossing it across the room. You don’t care to look where it lands, busy sliding his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. You may have been considered soft, but no one ever said that about him. He was made of hard muscle, a warrior born in a time of peace. His strength was immense, far surpassing your own. You knew he could crush your skull without strain if he wanted to, but the way his hands delicately cup your face tells you he would never do such a thing. 

“I love you.” He says, running a thumb over your lips. 

You smile up at him, standing on your toes to give you as much height as you can. “I love you too.” 

He presses his lips to yours, bending down the rest of the way. His tusks tickle your cheeks, tongue quickly working its way into your mouth. You hadn’t wanted to stop kissing him at the altar, but you knew there would be time for it later. It was now later. 

You grip his shoulders, his hands waiting to catch you as you jump into his arms. His hands grip your thick thighs, holding you easily as you continue kissing him. He tastes musky and like the whiskey he’d drank at the reception before you had left for the hotel. 

He separates your lips as he lays down on the bed, holding you above him. You’re sitting on his stomach, abs flexing as he breathes. Your legs are spread wide across him, the wetness beginning to dampen your panties pressed against his skin, and by the smug look on his face you can tell he feels it. 

“You better lose that smug look.” 

He smirks deeper, hands gripping your waist. “Or what?” 

You give him your own smirk, leaning down to his ear before taking the pointed appendage between your teeth and biting down. He lets out a roar loud enough to shake your entire body, claws digging into your skin, but you don’t care. You release his ear, sitting up with a smirk. He looks utterly wrecked under you: panting, eyes hooded. His hands reach up, cupping a breast in each. He’s wearing the leather beaded bracelet you had made for him as a gift during your courtship, your own leather necklace still around your neck. 

His claws circle your nipples, already peaked, and he’d barely touched you. You know you’re going to get it, having taken a bold move biting his ear. His fingers pinch at your nipples, drawing sweet moans from your lips. He loves hearing the sounds of your moans, like music to his ears. 

You can feel yourself getting wetter, hips moving against his stomach. You can feel the rough texture of his skin through your panties, deliciously rubbing against your clit. He watches you, biting his own lip as he strains painfully against his pants at the sight. You are absolutely beautiful to him. 

His hands leave your breasts, lifting you up slightly, stopping your movement. You let out an adorable whine at the loss of contact, but he inches you closer up his chest until you’re practically seated on his face. You grip the headboard, his hands easily tearing your panties off of you. You can’t bring yourself to care, as his lips are on you instantly. His tusks press against your thighs, scratching against the skin. You know you’ll have plenty of marks from tonight on your body tomorrow. 

His tongue licks a line across your folds, teeth scraping against your clit. Your body jerks in reaction, grinding against his tongue and teeth. Jolts of pleasure shoot through you, your legs shaking from his ministrations. You hold yourself up, partially with the help of his hands on your waist. His tongue is thick and hot as it traces your clit, winding you up towards the edge you can practically see. 

And then you fall over, reaching your first orgasm of the night. 

He laps every drop, licking you clean practically. You feel overstimulated, hips trying to move away from him when he finally lets you go. He holds you against his chest, stroking your hair softly. 

“You good?” He rumbles, claws tracing patterns on your back. 

You nod, fingers playing in the dark hair on his chest. “Yeah. Better than good.” 

He laughs. “I’m just getting started.” 

He takes your hand in his, pressing it against the sizable bulge in his pants. You let out a quiet sound, feeling the hardness against your palm through his tuxedo pants. 

“Well, maybe we should do something about that.” You say, sitting up slightly and undoing his belt. 

He doesn’t stop you, watching you as you undo his pants, his hips lifting to help you slide them, along with his boxers, down his legs. He kicks them off, leaving himself bare to you. He’s huge, hard and leaking against his stomach. You blanch for a moment, wondering just how he’s going to fit inside you. He had to be the size of your forearm, easily. 

You reach out, gripping his length in your hand. You can barely get your fingers all the way around him, his own hand closing over yours, showing you how to grip him. He moves your hand with his, teaching you the rhythm he likes. You catch on easily, working him up more than he already was.

He pulls your hand away before too long, pulling you back against his chest. “You’re in control.” He says, sitting you over his stomach again. 

You gulp, but you’re glad for the invitation. You had never had anyone nearly as big as he was, and you knew it would take a lot to get him in. Regardless, he holds you up, using his strength as you situate yourself over him, easing the tip against you. You slowly press yourself down on him, a burning stretch to fit him even just an inch inside. You brace yourself on his stomach, legs trembling already from the stretch as your body tries to adjust to him. He sits up, wrapping his arms around you, breathing sweet nothings into your hair, praising you. 

You slowly inch yourself down his length, taking him more and more as you adjust to his size. You’re already fluttering around him, feeling close to the edge, and you had just barely gotten started. You hold yourself back, though, gripping his shoulders as you take as much of him as you can. 

He lays back down, gripping your curves with his hands as you begin to move, using his arms for leverage as you roll your hips. He’s so big inside of you, stretching you and hitting every part of you without trying you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last, and by the look on his face you know he’s not going to last much longer either. 

You push yourself further onto him, taking as much of him as you physically can, his tip hitting something inside you that has you crying out. He groans at the sensation, his hips jerking slightly as you tighten around him. You repeat that movement, hitting that spot over and over, and before you know it, you’re practically seeing stars. He growls underneath you; the sound vibrating through your body as he thrusts up into you a couple times before finishing himself. He’s hot as he spurts into you, a sheen of sweat on both your bodies, but you don’t care, resting on his chest anyway. 

You groan as he slips out of you, a rush of fluid following. You moan slightly at the feeling, his hands brushing over your skin gently. 

“Are you alright, love?” He asks, touch gentle on your overly stimulated body. 

You nod, limp on his chest, limbs like jelly. “Yeah. Never been better.” 

He smiles. “Good. Because we’re not finished here.” 

Orcish stamina, a curse or a blessing?


End file.
